Blooming Sins
by Flandre Nightshade
Summary: She wasn't a stranger to rebirth. Having been stuck in a cycle of life and death since the time that the gods roamed the land, she's seen nearly all of it. But it was unprecedented that she had prior knowledge of the world she was brought into. She never could resist a good fight however, and this place had plenty. OC. Written in 2nd person.
1. Youko

You're somewhere around the middle of your third year of living when you come into sudden lucidity. You've been reborn again. Not a surprising revelation considering your history but it's always a small shock when it happens.

It takes a while for you process all your memories, You have a lot of them. The first of them were perhaps the most obvious, Ancient Greece was always given away by the disgusting feeling of sin of man and monsters. You did not think about the gods, your past with the majority of them were on less than speaking terms. Rome came next, a considerably more peaceful time despite having more fighting than Greece. It was where you learned to create instead of destroy. Where you learned to sing and dance. To paint and draw. It is where you learned arithmetic and participated in grand architectural breakthroughs. Then after that, you went back to your roots. You led armies to victory for centuries. One life after another. You were called a god. And as such, you were struck down by the gods.

Your thoughts halt. It always came back to the gods, every time they would be there. Taunting you. Laughing at you. Cursing you for adapting. But that was then and this is now.

Memories… There it is. You find your previous life in your memories. At the forefront of the timeline. You died young it seems. Not as young as many other times but relative to the average lifespan on the time period. 2016 was it? Or perhaps it was at the cusp of 2017. Either way. To die at the age of 19 revolutions old. It was a short life without much meaning.

You spent most of your time learning, reading books. But soon you grew bored of it. History was something you were there to witness firsthand. And although it was amusing to see how the textbooks interpreted it, it was ultimately nothing more than a passing interest. Fiction however, that was what truly got your attention. Worlds beyond your imagination inside a single book. The thrill of battle came back to you. Emotions you've long lost the ability to feel rushed back.

You embodied the books and let them take over you. Their emotions were your emotions. Their grief was yours. They let you feel.

It was an amazing experience. To feel again.

You may have lost one of the few pleasures left in this world but you also gained one in return.

Modern machinery took much of the thrill out of battle. The clash of sword on sword in a fight for survival could never be replaced by guns and bullets. There was no honor left. Gone were the days when you could invade the neighboring country and lock swords with an enemy. Learning more about them in a simple exchange of blades than one could with words. Battle was one of the very few pleasures you had left in your endless existence. The thrill of a life and death fight, the rush of blood to your head and throughout your body. The feeling of victory as you claim the enemy's head as your own. It was an addicting presence. And for it to suddenly be gone without a warning? It was insanity.

Although, you thought. You were already insane.

Living throughout most of written history does that to you. Being cursed by gods and humans alike does that to you. Getting that one step ahead of those who shamed you no matter what it takes does that to you. But you prevailed. The gods are dead and the people who hated you are long forgotten to history. Only you survived.

A grin grew upon your face.

You survived. You trampled upon those who scorned you. Your last life may have been dull. But it still held its merits. You expect that this one will as well.

For now however, you'll spend your time learning about the world. As you always do this early on.

* * *

Your name is Youko. Like last time, you were born a female.

Like every time, you were born with black hair that sucked in any light and cold dark eyes.

Black hair that signified your appearance since your first birth.

Black hair that got you killed. That caused you to be called a witch, a demon. A numerous amount of profanities and slurs.

Black hair that you've grown to love.

Your mother is combing through that black hair. Humming a song you do not know. To a tune that is unfamiliar.

You listen to her quietly. Relishing the feel of someone's hands going brushing over your scalp and the gentle tug of the brush.

She asks you a question.

"Youko." She begins. "Would you rather have your hair in a braid or leave it straight?"

You realize that this is a rather ludicrous question to ask a three year old. But you answer anyways.

"A braid please." You say. Your voice quiet and soft.

Your mother hums in acknowledgment. Her hands quickly going back to work on your hair while also being delicate and gentle. It takes no less than a couple minutes to get it into a simple braid.

She smiles. Facing your head towards the mirror once more.

"There!" She exclaims. A warm expression upon her face. "How do you like it Youko?"

You stare at the mirror. Reflection gazing back.

It was a simple braid. One that anyone with some experience could make. Yet, you couldn't help think that it made you look like some sort of nobility when combined with your attire. Your mother had an eye for fashion it seemed. Appropriate for a seamstress.

You nod. Affirming your satisfaction with the hairstyle your mother fashioned for you.

"Great! Then let's go."

Nodding once again. You stand and follow your mother out the door. A slight breeze catches your clothes but you pay it no heed.

The village you walk through is small. Perhaps a maximum of a few hundred people judging solely by the size of it. Certainly not more than five hundred.

On the road, people greet your mother with smiles. She smiles back, reciting each person's name as if clockwork.

You garner some smiles and greetings. But you return them with a small nod before returning your gaze back to the road. Your mother pays no attention to that behavior.

When you finally reach the heart of the village, as quickly as that was, you find it bustling with more people than you imagined possible.

The streets were filled to the brim with various stalls and shops, people mingled to and from with bags in hand and items on back. People's appearances differed greatly. Height and age, gender and race, hair and eyes. It seemed as if not a single person looked like another.

It isn't until your mother speaks up that you realize you've stopped.

"Are you surprised?" She asks.

You glance up at her. Her face holds a smile.

"About what?" You respond.

"About the people."

You blink. "Why would I be surprised about that?"

She gives a chuckle. "No reason. Just a hunch."

You stare up at your mother perplexed. She was an odd woman. Her smiles reached her eyes and brought an undeniable warmth to the room. Her maternal nature and instincts were rather spot on. Yet you couldn't help but wonder what mother would question her daughter about their surprise based on a hunch.

"So." She continued. "Do you remember what we're here for?"

You nod. That was simple. "Food and supplies for your work."

"Good!" She extended her hand towards you. "Grab on, wouldn't want you to get lost."

You stare at the outstretched hand before reaching out and intertwining yours with hers. You note the surprising roughness to her palms and file it away for later.

The two of you weave through the crowd of people, never giving much more than a fleeting touch to another person.

It's up close that you realize the language on the stalls was one that you couldn't actually understand. Listening in, the oral part was obviously a form of Japanese more modern than the one you learned in your previous lives but the written form seemed to escape you.

It would be tedious to learn the new written language but you realize you have no choice. You've done it many a times before so at this point you expect nothing less.

The stalls and the bustling amount of people were a clue however, to what your village was however. In hindsight it was rather obvious. Your village was likely part of a capital trade route. Possibly somewhere around the middle of two larger cities. People would stop and rest here, while some merchants would set up temporary shop.

Your mother jerks you out of your observations when she saddles up to a stall whose name you cannot read but holds items that point toward food. Specifically food items that don't look to be grown in nearby areas.

You ignore the exchange that takes place, favoring to look and observe the various people that mingled about.

A man across the road had dark skin and bulging muscles. His blonde hair contrasted with the sea of brown and black but was somewhat washed out by the more unusual colours of red and blue. His stall looked to be selling antique swords, though it seemed he was having difficulty finding any customers.

You spot an old woman several stalls down making a purchase of what seems to be spices. Her eyes seemed to be perpetually shut and she leaned heavily on her cane. You suspect she has less than a year to live.

A certain pattern of movement catches your eye. A completely nondescript man with average height, brown hair and brown eyes walked up to the stall next to you. His straightened back and the way he held his movement on the balls of his feet seemed so achingly familiar to you. You watch him closely, the way he never let his hand stray too far from the left side of his belt, to the way he constantly moved his head while talking. Scouting out the area using his peripheral.

This man was a killer. An assassin. And he was out on a mission.

Somebody was most likely going to die.

"Youko!"

Your eyes snap back towards your mother, who is looking at you with a warm smile. Her gaze shifts to the man you were just looking at and you see her expression harden for just a moment. Then, as if it never happened, it's back to the warm smile she always has.

"That doesn't concern us, Youko. Let's move onto our next stop okay? I just have to pick up a delivery and then we'll be on our way home!" She says while grabbing your hand.

When you look back towards the man. He was gone.

* * *

Your mother leads you through the maze of people with ease, eventually coming up to a small building with dark accents.

The bell rings when you enter the shop. Your mother strides toward the counter without hesitation.

You tune out your mother's exclamations and instead turn your focus to the shop itself.

The shop held many various trinkets and items. Most noticeably however was the large collection of fabrics.

You raise your eyebrow as you come across a throwing dagger on a table. Across from it was a target that seemed to be well used. The knife itself seemed to be in poor condition, with the blade dull and the hand worn. It seemed that it would be unable to cut a piece of wool, much less impale itself into wood. It was however, well balanced. A well balanced blade, when thrown correctly, could pierce at the very least the soft bark that targets were ever so often made of.

You twirl the knife around in your hand slightly and wonder why a fabrics shop would have something like this. A clothier would normally never have a use for target practice, and from the way the knife was left out in the open it was obvious that customers were free to use it.

Glancing towards the shop counter, you find that your mother was talking animatedly to the shopkeeper. The exact topic escaped you but they seemed to be preoccupied enough that they wouldn't notice if you took a shot at throwing.

You twirled the knife once more through your fingers. Letting yourself familiarize the way it handles before relaxing your stance and holding the knife between your index and thumb. You step forward with your left foot, feet perpendicular to each other and throw the knife using your right arm.

The loud thunk in the wood echoes louder than you thought it would. The complete silence that follows was a good indicator that you weren't as stealthy as you thought you were. You chance a look towards the counter to find that both your mother and the shopkeeper had turned their heads ever so slightly to view the target out of their peripheral.

When they speak up again, they make no effort to disguise what they just saw or keep their voices from being heard.

"So that one's yours then?" The shopkeepers asks.

"Indeed she is. She takes after me so much it, it makes me so proud!" Your mother replies. Her signature smile in place.

You walk over to the target to inspect the damage. You hit a bullseye, but only just. The knife was protruding from middle in an upward slant. A sloppy throw by your standards. Clumsy as you are in your youthful body.

"Last time you came in, you said her name was Youko. Does she take your last name as well?"

Out of the corner of your vision you see your mother nod.

"Youko Tsukimori… What a beautiful name." The shopkeeper says.

The corners of your mother's mouth curl upward. "Yes, yes she is. I have no doubt in my mind that one day she'll do great things."

You turn back towards the target and pluck the knife from the wood. It creaks ever so slightly but comes out easily.

Walking back towards the table, you turn to the target once more. You relaxed your body and let your left foot step first.

"Youko."

You stop.

"It's time to go."

You nod.

The bell rings when you leave through the doorway.

* * *

Your mother hums as she cooks. To a song you do not know, and to a tune that is familiar.

You look back down to your book. It contained various sentences with pictures attached to them. A simple book. But an essential one.

You pick through the book quickly. The language was identical to Japanese in nearly every way except for the characters used. It was a simple process of reassociating which character matched with each sound.

You would need a book detailing which character made each book to quickly finish up the last bits of the language, but otherwise you had the basics down.

How simple.

To finish learning a new language in the span of time it took to make dinner. That was a new record for you. It beat the previous record of Korean by a whole hour and a half.

"Youko!" Your mother calls. "Be a dear and help me bring this dish to the table?"

You hum in agreement and close the book. Walking over to your mother, you glance at what she cooked.

It was a traditional Japanese dinner, with fish, rice, miso soup and some vegetables. You take hold of the soup, looking at your mother for confirmation.

She nods, warning you that the soup was hot and to be careful.

You place it on the table and watch as your mother carefully balances the rest of the dishes and sets them down. It was an impressive display of dexterity by your mother, but you can't help but feel that she has done more strenuous things in her past.

You both dip your heads slightly in prayer before picking up your chopsticks and beginning your meal.

It was nice. Your mother was a good cook. The fish was cooked just right and the rice was neither too soggy or too dry. The miso flavor from the soup was refreshing and quaint. The two of you finish your meal in silence.

When you and your mother finish bringing any dishes to the sink. You both sit back down at the table. You speak first.

"Father?" You ask.

"Away on a business trip." She replies.

"What business?"

Her face did not betray any emotion. "His blacksmithing business."

You raise an eyebrow. Your father was a blacksmith? "How long?"

This time she smiles. "A week. Two at most."

"And you?" You say.

"And me what?"

"Your business."

Her smile turns sharp. The emotion that reached her eyes were no longer just happiness, but of a predator stalking their prey.

"I thought it was obvious from earlier." She replies.

It's your turn to smile. "It was."

"Then I wonder what sort of conclusion you made. Do tell, Youko-chan."

How wonderful. What a wonderful exchange between mother and daughter. It's been truly a long time since you've had any sort of fun with any of your mothers.

"But of course dearest mother. Who are you now but a wholesome seamstress? Your hands work deftly and your steps are light. You skill in working the needle extends past the use of just fabrics. Truly what a wonderful mother I have been gifted with."

The smile on your mother's face turned wicked. It no longer held any happiness. For it no longer held any emotion at all. It was a smile of a cat finding something amusing to play with.

You could play that game as well mother dearest. You just wonder how long it'll take until one of you folds.

"It seems." She began. "That I have given birth to a wonderful daughter. To think that nine months of pain have bore fruit so early. How wonderful."

"I am but a measly three years old, dearest mother of mine. But to hear your words of praise makes me feel as if I had spent these three years of mine accomplishing something great."

She let out a dark chuckle. "What a way with words you possess, Youko. I do wonder who was it that you learned from? Perhaps it is simply something to be inherited. Or perhaps, it is nothing but a natural talent for you." Your mother's face went blank.

You stayed silent.

"Youko." She said. Her face impassive.

"Yes, mother?" You reply.

"Perhaps you would like to learn?" She asks.

"To inherit the family business?"

"My business, young one. I believe your… 'Way of working the needle.'" She quotes you. "Could surpass even mine." She finishes.

Her eyes were locked into you. And yours onto hers. You would have to be a fool not to accept. Your last life was decidedly peaceful, but it was not boring. It did however, lack something you needed. Something that your body ached for.

The thrill of bloodshed and battle. It was something you listed after. Ever since the old days of the Greeks, you've had a subliminal desire for it. A want and need for it. To bathe yourself in the blood of your enemies.

You need it. Ever since that damn war god cursed you you've needed it. It ate away at the fibers of your being without it.

At first. You loathed the curse, you loathed what it made you do. You loathed what it made you want to do. But you came to enjoy it. When your sanity had eroded enough you found that you enjoyed the slaughter of battle. A curse it may be, but you did not curse its existence.

So indeed, you would have to be a fool to not accept.

And you were not a fool.

* * *

 **Start: October 9th. 2017.**

 **End: November 8th. 2017.**

 **Words: 3328**

 **I don't like author notes so I'll try to say everything I need to now.**

 **This is as much as an experiment as it is a pseudo character study. I've never written in 2nd person before so I thought that this would be as good time as ever to start. I don't expect people to like this, however this is something that I truly put my best effort into writing. Ideally I'd like for something like this to be longer but I've found that keeping a longer word count in 2nd person is much more difficult than in 3rd person.**

 **Youko will be strong. That is a fact. She will be strong enough to rival the greats. But she will fail. She is not without faults. She may have thousands of years of experience with her, but she will fail. Because that is her destiny. Because that is who she is. Because that is who she always has been.**

 **There will be no romance.**

 **If you notice any mistakes. Let me know.**


	2. Mother

Your father was decisively boring.

He was a good man, a nice father and a great blacksmith.

But he was boring. Uninteresting. Dull.

People loved your father. He was admired throughout the village. His friendly attitude and ability to listen to anyone's tale with rapt attention made him popular with all ages. Not to mention his seeming incapability to decline a call for help.

Yes. He was a good man.

Your father was nice. His attention to your needs as a child was a rare sight in parents. Had you been any other child, you likely would have been spoiled to death. You realize that was likely his plan. To spoil his cute little daughter rotten, to keep her away from boys as she grew up, to never let her face any hardships. To protect her. It was indeed a shame you were not any other child.

Yes. He was a nice father.

His blacksmithing skills were extraordinary. His attention to detail was precise and the quality of his works were exquisite. It reminded you greatly of the legendary pieces of weaponry and armor created by the children of Hephaestus and Vulcan long ago. Perhaps it was the quality of his materials. Which you had been unable to see yet, but could guess that they were pure and undiluted. Or perhaps it was simply the raw talent that you could discern from your father.

Yes. Your father was a great blacksmith.

But he was boring.

You watched him as he worked. The way he concentrated fully on the item he was making, the gears turning in his head as he constantly thought of ways to improve the quality. How every move he made was calculated and precise. The way he didn't let the sweltering heat bother him even as beads of sweat rolled down his face and body.

You watched him talk with others, as he brought you around the village. Introducing you in a manner that showed just how proud he was to be a father. How he listen to people in a manner that gave them their full undivided attention. The way his face changed with every bit and piece of the story they gave. How their grief was his grief, and their happiness was his happiness.

You watched him interact with you. The surprise he had when he realized that his daughter could fully read and write at such a young age. How you could already keep a level conversation with him. The hesitation that occasionally clouded his actions concerning you. When you thought he wasn't looking, you saw him making a list of souvenirs to bring home on the various business trips he would be making.

The world would be hard pressed to find a person happier and content with their life than your father. He was a man loved by many. A man who loved his wife and daughter and a man who loved his job and the things he's accomplished.

And that was why he was boring.

There was no strive to achieve something amazing in your father, for he had already achieved everything he wanted to. He was a kind, trusting man. A man who, without a doubt, trust a complete stranger with their life.

Your father did not realize that he was ultimately just a small little insect stuck inside the web of a deadly spider.

A deadly spider that would let their prey wander about, with the vision that they were free of restraints and could move about as they wanted.

A spider that your father was deeply in love with.

You watched them interact, the way your mother would smile and the joy that radiated from her. The joy that never could reach her eyes. How your father would always smile back and give her a tender kiss. Pure love that emanated from entire his body.

He never knew that he was just the prey and that she was the predator.

Idly, somewhere in the back of your mind you thought that you should feel some sort of pity to the ignorant man you call your father. But you never could bring yourself to do it.

How could you bring yourself to feel pity for him when you couldn't even feel it for your mother?

Your mother who thought she was the predator, when in reality, she was just prey to someone else.

You were the crow who would swoop down and devour the spider once it's usefulness exhausts.

* * *

Your mother made quick work of the promise she gave you. Two weeks after your father returned she woke you up at the crack of dawn to begin.

You didn't question the early morning start of training. It was more than likely to avoid your father finding out and to not have training cut into the time your mother would need to work her normal job.

She brought you to a small clearing nearby the house. The grass was wet with morning dew and the birds chirped loudly to each other. The wind was a gentle breeze that gave you a slight chill despite the warm summer air.

You look to your mother. Her eyes were following your every move.

"Youko." She starts. "Sit down on the grass."

You comply. The moisture remaining on the grass clings to your clothes and feels cold but you pay it no heed. You sit cross legged.

"Close your eyes." She continues.

You do so.

"Now focus. Feel the energy around you."

How vague, you think. But do so.

You focus. Bringing your mind and senses inward before expanding it out. It was an exercise you've done many times in the past.

You inhaled through your nose. You could feel the area around you. How the birds flew from tree to tree and how a squirrel ran up a trunk. You could feel the grass move slightly in the background and the soft rustle of leaves in the wind.

"Ignore the sounds of animals and nature and focus on feeling the energy of the forest."

You inhale once more, bringing your senses in and leaving behind the noises. To you, it was now perfectly silent. The only sound was the soft beat of your own heart. Then you exhaled. Expanding your conscious out of your body and into the forest. You weren't exactly sure what your mother wanted you to feel but-

Your eyes snap open. Your breath gets caught in your throat and your mind whirrs. What was that?

What did you just feel?

More importantly, how?

How did you feel it?

Energy? Natural Energy? That was something you hadn't felt in multiple millennia. Long ago did magic dry up from the ground and exhaust itself from humans. And now, it was back? How? Why?

You had so many questions whirling about in your mind but your mother interrupted your thoughts.

Her gaze was sharp. "You felt it then?"

You move to speak but the words lodged themselves in your throat, refusing to come out.

You nod instead.

"Good. You may have questions but hold off on them until this next part."

You nod once more.

She turns so her back was facing you.

"Do the same as last time but instead search for that same feeling inside of you."

Inside of you? Had humans really been able to replenish their magical reserves in the time between lives? How was that possible?

You had so many questions eating at you, but your mother wouldn't accept any until you finished this task.

You took a deep breath to calm your racing heart and then closed your eyes. Exhaling, you let your senses go outward only to bring them back while inhaling. You held your breath and focused on finding that same feeling inside of you. You didn't have to search long, as you felt a small bubbling warmth around the pit of your stomach. For it to be there the entire time and to not notice it, you had truly become lax.

You opened your eyes.

"I found it." You say.

"Good." She replies.

You lick your dry lips before asking. "What did I find exactly?"

"That." She says. Turning back towards you. "Was what we call, chakra."

Chakra? Your mother was a Buddhist? Did Buddhism reject the notion of magic and instead explained it using chakra? That was the only explanation you could think of. You had wandered the lands of Asia during the founding years of Buddhism and you had not felt anything that connected chakra to magic.

But how?

Magic was the manifestation of living energy that was produced by any living thing. Back then, almost everything produced some sort of magic, but it was the goddess Hecate that blessed humanity with the ability to mold and shape it to an extent.

There wasn't a way you could foresee that accounted for both the return of magic and the explanation of chakra. By the time chakra had become a prominent idea in Hinduism and Buddhism, magic had long since dried up.

"You look like you're deep in thought, little one."

Your mother breaks you out of your thoughts. Walking over to you, she sits down on a patch of grass near you in a manner identical to yours.

"Would you care to share? Perhaps I can help." She says.

You glance at your mother. Then nod. Additional information could always be useful.

"What is chakra?" You ask.

"Chakra." She begins. "Is a mix between spiritual and physical energy and is found within every living person."

"Person? Do animals not produce chakra?" You inquire.

Your mother shakes her head. "No. Only people produce chakra."

"Then what about the chakra that I felt in the forest?"

"That is natural chakra, or nature energy as it is called." She frowns. "Not much is known about it besides that it's produced naturally by the planet and atmosphere."

"Hence the name." You say.

She nods.

"What about the origins of chakra? How long have humans been able to produce it?" You continue.

"That is…" She stops. "For as long as written history has been around, chakra has always been there. Its origins are unknown but it's generally agreed that it's just always been apart of us."

That was different. The implications that all this new information you gained did not sit well with you. The only theory regarding the return of magic and presence of chakra was just thrown out the window now that it's been established that magic and chakra were two very different things.

Perhaps you needed to look at this from a new perspective.

But first, you needed one last bit of information.

"Mother, what year is it?"

She raised an eyebrow but answered anyway. "It has been over half a century since the end of the warring states period."

Warring states? What? That was in the-

"And 49 years since the establishment of hidden villages." She finishes.

You freeze. Hidden villages? That was impossible.

"Mother." You start. An unfamiliar emotion crept up your throat. "What country do we currently live in?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Youko-"

"Please. You interject. "Please just answer this."

She was silent for a moment before saying. "We currently live in Hi no Kuni. The land of fire."

Ah. So that's what happened. You weren't born into the past, or even born into the distant future. You were born into another world.

You could feel a dark chuckle threatening to escape your throat. A sickly sweet grin was forming on your face.

You wanted to laugh, to cry, to run about and slaughter the fools of this world.

This world. The world that was previously nothing more than a way to pass time, was now reality. A world that you now held at your beck and call. All because you had information.

If knowledge was power, then knowing the future was akin to divinity.

* * *

Konoha was a place that rivaled the density and traffic of New York but also held the homeliness of a small village on the mountainside.

It was a surprising notion, to say the least. The last time you've seen a place similar to Konoha was perhaps the early days of Rome, when the city focused less on politics and succession and more about each other.

The trip to Konoha was one that spanned around three day by carriage. The only other passenger was a young man somewhere in his late teens.

You watched a middle aged woman walk down the street. People would greet her with a smile, much akin to how your village did with your parents. But in Konoha they would repeat this action for nearly everyone else who walked down that street.

It seemed as if, despite the large size of the village, everyone knew everyone.

Your mother had wanted to pick up a specific brand of fabric that was only sold here. As such, she brought you along.

You gazed at your mother. The way she moved through the village with ease, how she never once stopped or hesitated in where she needed to go. Some people would have ignored this detail. You however, knew that it indicated several things.

Your mother either frequently visited Konoha, enough so that she knew exactly which route to take to get whatever she wanted, or she had previously lived here.

Each story was equally possible. And at your current moment, you had no way to find out which one was correct. The opportunity would present itself soon. That, you were sure of.

"Youko." Your mother called. "We're here."

You glance at the shop in question. It was a small thing, no bigger than 15 meters across. You wondered how a shop this small could be the only host of a rare brand of fabric.

Opening the door, your mother walked inside. You followed.

You were greeted by a youthful sounding voice belonging to a girl somewhere in her adolescence.

"Hello!" She called. "I'm in the back right now but I'll be out in just a second!"

The girl in question came out a moment later. Her black hair came down to her neck and she wore a vibrant turquoise yukata.

"Sorry about that." She apologized. "I was working on commission and I guess time just got away from me!"

Your mother smiled. "It's of no consequence. I know how it can be, working on commissions and all, sometimes you just get so into it and the next thing you know it's the middle of the night!" She chuckled.

The girl laughed. "I know! Every time that happens Obaa-chan always yells at me, telling me I should spend less time working and more time meeting boys or catching up on beauty sleep. Honestly! The old woman just doesn't understand that I like working here." She blinked. A sheepish look washed over her face. "S-Sorry! I ramble a lot, bad habit. You said you also did commissions? Are you a seamstress? Is that why you're here?"

"Indeed I am." Your mother replied. "And yes, that is the reason I am here today." Your mother reached into her shirt and brought out a piece of paper. Crisply unfolding it while she did so. "Is Agatha here today? I ordered this-" she handed the paper to the girl "a while back and am here to receive it."

"Oh well if it's just a pick up I can-" The black haired girl scanned over the paper. "Oh. Y-Yeah I'll go get Obaa-chan. She's in the back."

The girl turned and retreated into the back.

You could faintly hear a 'Obaa-chan! There's an order that needs you!' from the back.

Tearing your eyes away from the door that the girl just disappeared to, you look back at your mother. The warm smile that she gave the young girl was still there and her body was positioned in a receptive way.

But her eyes.

Her eyes were as cold as murder.

The door leading to the back of the shop creaked slightly as it opened. An old lady stepped out with a smile on her face.

"Hello! I heard you needed- Oh it's you." Agatha said.

You raised an eyebrow at the sudden change in attitude. Your mother however made no shift in how she presented herself.

"You haven't died yet?" The old lady said bluntly.

"Is that any way to treat a customer Agatha-san?" Your mother replied.

"Keh, maybe if it was anyone else then no." She glanced at you. "Who's the kid? Yours?"

Your mother nodded. "Youko. Say hello to Agatha."

You bow your head. "Hello. Agatha-san."

She stares at you for a moment before turning back towards your mother. "She's got your eyes."

"Why thank you." Your mother smiles.

"That wasn't a compliment. So why are you here? You never stop by to just chit chat."

"I believe the young lady who worked the front mentioned something about an order to you, Agatha-san."

"Hah! That might be true. But the second I saw you the only thing that I could think was that my good day was now ruined."

Your mother hid a cruel smile that broke out on her face behind a hand. "How rude. Here I am, a paying customer and I have to endure this barrage of insults?"

Agatha scowled. "I liked you much better when you were just a little brat that didn't know their left from right."

"Oh?" Your mother feigned surprise. "I believe you were the one who taught me all that I know?"

The old woman gave a huff. "I guess I have no one to blame but myself for that."

Your mother's eyes flashed. A new emotion filled them. It was one that you were familiar with but hadn't seen before on your mother.

It was bloodlust.

"You are correct in that regard… Why don't you let this student of yours show you what they learned since graduating from your tutelage?"

Agatha's eyes narrowed and the ever present scowl deepened. She reached down under the front desk and pulled out a medium sized package. Shoving it into your mother's hands, she said one word.

"Leave."

Your mother complied. One hand carrying the package and one hand slipped into yours.

It was only once you were halfway to the hotel you were residing at did you let the maniacal laughter bubbling up within you out in the form of a imperceivable chuckle.

Your mother was truly an interesting person it seemed. To be hated by your own sensei was a trait not shared by many. And in that short exchange between mentor and mentee, you've learned far more about her than you previously thought you would.

You looked up at the large carving of stone overseeing the village. The three heads that governed it appeared to be mocking you, their blank faces looking down upon you. Laughing at you for your current weak body of a child. Hate filled you, flowed through you and brewed deep within your gut.

Nobody looked down on you.

One day you would triumph over the strong. But that day was not today. You were patient. You would lie in wait and then strike when they least expected it.

Perhaps that Agatha lady would be a good stepping stone.

* * *

 **Start: Nov 9th. 2017.**

 **End: Nov 14th. 2017.**

 **Words: 3220**

 **I am looking for a beta for this story. Possibly.  
**


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